


Milk Tea, Pearls and Thirty Percent of Suga(r)

by 200percent_inlove



Category: K-pop, Real Person Fiction, Red Velvet (K-pop Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: "BUT GONG CHA IS ALL ABOUT THE PEARLS!", Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Friends to Lovers, Male-Female Friendship, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23049478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/200percent_inlove/pseuds/200percent_inlove
Summary: "I bet you that by the end of the semester, you won't be dependent on bubble tea anymore.""Oh yeah?Tryme."Or, that one time where Yoongi is challenged to do the impossible. And somehow, he succeeds.College/university AU.
Relationships: Min Yoongi | Suga/Son Seungwan | Wendy, wenga
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	Milk Tea, Pearls and Thirty Percent of Suga(r)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gyeomiebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyeomiebear/gifts).



> Hi everybody! It's been a while for the K-Pop sphere, so I hope you've all been well. :3 
> 
> First and foremost, this Wenga piece is a belated birthday gift to 2 February/March babies, and 2 OG BTVelvet shippers whom I've had the pleasure to know for - quite sometime now, actually: gyeomiebear and pisceanblue :3 Thank you for offering your friendship despite being halfway across the world, for your support and for inspiring me to write more for BTVelvet. I only hope that this story brings a smile to your faces :D 
> 
> Secondly, I must announce: I've always been a WenSeok shipper, but recently, I've slowly come to appreciate the beauty that is in Wenga. :D Moody, broody + Vitamin-y sunshine? Uh, yes, please! 
> 
> This idea came to me when I was, ironically enough, running on the treadmill, but also inspired by various things such as my personal love for bubble tea, and Wendy's famous quote, "Gong Cha is all about the pearls!" 
> 
> While this is pure fluff, crack and written purely for comedic purposes, I'm also wishing Wendy the best and a speedy, quick recovery so that she can get back to her activities as soon as possible. We love you, sweetheart! <3 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

Med school hopefuls like Min Yoongi know better.

Milk tea is vile. It's the most heinous creation to mankind (Maybe second to Jimin’s deathly gym socks, but just as revolting nonetheless). And the accompanying tapioca pearls that _she_ often likes to add on top of the copious amounts of sugar water that she inhales –

He shudders. Even _more_ disgusting, because it reminds him of fish eggs that once littered his older brothers’ tank. That imagery has him scarred for life. 

So that’s why, as a med school prospective and a sane person who understands that basic necessities take priority over a cup of liquefied sucrose, he chooses _not_ to fall for the false marketing tactics boasting ‘all-organic milk’, ‘tea leaves harvested from the highest mountain peaks of Taiwan’, ‘all-you-can-pick toppings’ and whatnot.

The problem is, just because _he_ knows better, doesn’t mean _Son Seung-Hwan_ knows better.

And that’s _also_ why he tends to follow his ~~pretty~~ comp sci and psychology major ‘friend’ (Term used loosely here) to the college campus Gong Cha to study: Partially to take advantage of the quiet environment, partially for the gangly store managers’ excellent music recommendations –

But mostly because, well, it’s _Seung-Hwan_.

And nothing else takes more urgency on his To-Do List than his need to drill the message into Seung-Hwan’s head that her three-times-a-week indulgences were going to do nothing but thin her wallet and expand her waistline.

Needlessly blunt? Yes, perhaps, but two years of being her classmate, and one and a half years of a sarcastic, snarky friendship has taught him that Son Seung-Hwan is devastatingly stupid. And stupidity to _that_ extent often needs to be combated with forthright honesty.

So here he is, on a Tuesday afternoon inside the completely deserted shop. He’s sipping gingerly on a regular-sized cup of wintermelon oolong tea (Sans toppings, because **_no_** ) with his heavy anatomy textbook sprawled out across the tiny surface, left open to the pages of a graphically detailed diagram of the digestive system for subliminal messaging.

There’s barely enough room for Seung-Hwan’s laptop and her Elixir of Life: Roasted milk tea, double the pearls (Because apparently, _‘Gong Cha is all about the pearls’_ ), less ice and if that wasn’t horrifying enough, one hundred percent sugar.

He raises a single eyebrow, arranging his neutral expression into one of a disgusting grimace before giving his head a curt shake of disapproval. It should be illegal for someone to drink this without retching.

“I’d like to harbour a guess that if an earthquake were to hit right now,” Yoongi drawls, drumming his fingers against the table. “That concoction would probably reign supremacy over your computer.”

“You’ll make a great GP, Yoongi,” Seung-Hwan quips dryly. “ _Really_.” 

_The worst part is,_ she’s _smirking_ about this, derisive and near victorious as she’s always been even from their freshman days of club orientations and icebreakers, as she brings the straw close to her lips.

Okay, no. Yoongi takes it back. The _actual_ worst part of the entire ordeal is having to watch her slurp up that syrupy liquid without a single flying fuck.

He inhales. Patience, his brain encourages. _Patience._ Exhales. “Hwan- _ah_.”

“What is it now, you med school wannabe slash snooty anatomy know-it-all?” Ouch. She really knows the places to hit the hardest, doesn’t she? Not that it’s much of a surprise, seeing that she has the foul mouth of a damn pirate, so this is already relatively tame as is. Still, he questions how she manages her refined, eloquent image of a passionate researcher so well when there’s so much unused wit trapped in that mind of hers waiting to implode. God _damn_.

Yoongi clears his throat, dutifully so, masquerading the professional aura of a physician-in-training. “I’m imploring you. Stop getting your bubble tea at a hundred percent sweetness, lest you want to develop Type 2 Diabetes at thirty-five.” 

“Save your breath, Yoong,” Seung-Hwan retorts, waving away his words. A vein immediately pops up, pulsing rapidly against his temple. _Clearly_ , someone doesn’t care. “You tell me this practically every day.”

“Oh, so you actually _do_ listen to me. Well, I’m glad that my tirades have had some good use,” Yoongi snipes, narrowly missing a violent swat across the head. It always ends like this – this cycle of trial-and-error: He tries; she gets irritated. And he’ll come back again with another attempt, only to have her quash it down with a defiant in-your-face attitude. Ugh. _Whatever_. He rolls his eyes, making _damn sure_ that Seung-Hwan saw them rolling into the back of his skull. “You’re at least _partially_ aware of your problem.”

She flicks her hair back, letting the blonde tips hit him squarely on the nose. “It’s not a problem. It’s a _choice_.”

“To hell it is.”

“Try me, Yoong.” To emphasize her point, she takes yet another sip, smiling broadly with her dimples on full display at his exasperation. He’s never seen someone savor fruit juice _this_ much since watching his five-year-old nephew waddle out of his Kindergarten class with a carton. While there was something innocently adorable in the way the chubby boy's eyes sparkled when the flavour hit his tongue, there was absolutely _nothing_ here that made Yoongi want to pinch her cheeks.

(Not that, you know, he _wants_ to in the first place.)

Either way, this once-in-a-while treat from freshman year had somehow exacerbated into a full-blown weekly requirement in their junior year. If she keeps up with these ridiculous shenanigans, she’s going to find herself a free one-way ticket towards insulin resistance.

And it needs to stop before it progresses to that stage. _Now_.

But if in-person lectures weren’t enough of a solution, then he’ll just have to turn this into something that will guarantee to pique her interest.

“Seung-Hwan, I _bet_ you a month’s supply of Gong Cha that by the end of the semester, you won’t be dependent on bubble tea anymore,” Yoongi challenges, hovering over the table with a competitive smirk set on his face. “And if I win, which I'm ninety-five percent certain that I will, you’d better promise me that you’ll only order your drinks once a week. At thirty percent sweetness or less.”

And nothing works better than a game of risk involving the one thing she loved the most.

She snorts in response, digging her straw deep into the last of the floating black beads. Is that apprehension he senses in her body language? Because if so, then, _good_. He's instilling enough fear already. “And if you lose – which you will, because I'll make that ninety-five percent work in my favour – “ Seung-Hwan sneers. “Then, you better start minding your own business!”

Min Yoongi vows, he isn’t going to lose to the likes of Son Seung-Hwan if it’s the _last_ thing he does. 

* * *

When faced with a reoccurring problem, Yoongi tries not to waste his time with the surface matters. Because more often than not, problems only worsen over time because of unresolved issues stemming from _underneath_. Take the puppy-eyed Jung-Kook, for example. When he desperately approached him for advice on how to solve his dilemma for his constant naps in class, Yoongi simply placed a permanent ban on the League of Legends icon on his laptop. That worked wonders in resetting his Circadian clock, and the peppy youngster now woke up with more energy to spare than Jung Ho-Seok – so yeah, that says a _lot_.

Now, if only he could do the same with Seung-Hwan. And have her be _thankful_ for his efforts in the end. Jesus.

While Seung-Hwan’s an open book – you know, those boisterous, outgoing types to disclose everything and anything imaginable, from her fleeting crushes on towering, attractive graduate students and intelligible teaching assistants sauntering throughout the hallways in their side-swept hair glory (Followed by a brief two-second mental vent on why his hair couldn’t sit the same way), to her post-graduation plans that she’s prepared well in advance – he knows that she wouldn’t give in so easily had he just up and went and directly asked her what sparked her cravings and drew her to the crimson-red shopfront akin to a moth to a flame. 

So, he starts to think back: Of the times that he’s willfully followed her in at peak lunch hours, of the number of times that he’s told her off for substituting the drink for an actual meal (Which was alarmingly high, now that he’s thinking about it), of the times where he’s waited patiently outside of her lecture halls, and he would be utterly disbelieved that she would be holding the recognizable plastic container instead of a water bottle or, as most sane people would carry in their bags, a sandwich container, or even a banana peel.

You know, food sources containing _naturally occurring sugars_? But he digresses.

Eventually, though, Yoongi _thinks_ he has the pattern figured out.

If his theory was correct, then Seung-Hwan’s using bubble tea as a replacement for one of her five squares a day.

And it makes sense: She lives alone, with no immediate family nearby to chide her for such a terrible diet. Except for him – always him, because he’s a hardy, no-nonsense asshole that would more than likely chop off his finger before giving in to her many indulgences. But with a schedule as hectic as hers, forcing her to dash about with a half-open book bag from 8 AM to 8 PM, it’s guaranteed to put her into a constant state of 'go-go-go' without ever allowing herself a decent hour to just sit down and force something properly edible into her system.

(No, as much as she likes to argue, the pearls and lychee jelly she likes to mix in do not count, and that also piques another question of, why doesn’t she just buy a damn rice ball from the convenience store? He’s surprised she hasn’t _keeled_ over from nutrition deficiency at this point.

Yes, he’s being angrily dramatic.

And **_no, he doesn’t fucking care._** )

But if this _were_ the case, then the solution _should_ be relatively simple: All Seung-Hwan needs to do is eat a proper meal on time.

* * *

Kim Seokjin has a lot of questions. Tons of them, frankly, like why Yoongi decided to call him up at nearly eight-thirty at night for an impromptu cooking lesson and why he cared about soy sauce variations, but the most important one that came to mind was: “If all you want out of this is for Hwannie to eat her meals, you do realize - you don’t need to prepare the food yourself. You could just _buy_ her pre-packaged lunch sets, right?" 

He says this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Yoongi doesn’t like the scornful stupidity implied in the elders’ words as he throws marinated beef slices into the heated frying pan. The uncooked protein pops loudly upon impact.

“I _like_ teaching you cooking and everything,” Seokjin adds cautiously, scrubbing his well-kept hair into a tousled mess. A small part of him dies instantly as he watches Yoongi dig the stainless steel spatula aggressively onto the surface of his new wok. “But uh – you know.”

“No, I don’t know, _hyung_.” The younger man’s eyes dart away from the sizzling slices, following the thorough muted instructions that leave Seokjin’s mouth thereafter. Frying protein, as it turns out, is much more complicated than he would like to admit. In fact, he would even consider it an art form that he has yet to master.

“It’s just – “ Seokjin’s thinking hard, scouring through his mental vocabulary for the appropriate word. “Unseemly.”

Unabashed as he normally is, Yoongi claims that the context behind his actions matters.

“If I have to save my credit card from unwanted transactions, then this must be done.”

Simple enough; Seokjin can accept that. The blonde has always been stingy with matters concerning money. “Okay, fair.”

“And plus – “ Yoongi’s dishing out the cooked beef into a makeshift _bento_ container, daintily so. “There’s just something more impactful about making food from scratch. It just tastes better when there's enough effort put into it.” Jabbing an elbow into the unsuspecting man’s ribs, he adds, “ _You’re_ a chef, you should know this, _hyung_!”

Indeed, Seokjin understands, recoiling from the younger man's gentle attack with pain flashing meekly across his face. 

It’s just that, well, there’s something in Yoongi’s gestures that makes him think there's more to this than just him wanting to tell Seung-Hwan off about her harmless guilty pleasures. 

* * *

So, a few days after the ridiculous proposal and when talks of fermented _kimchi_ , tofu and the jarring differences between macro and micronutrients with the resident’s father figure/chef-in-training was officially over, Yoongi and Seung-Hwan are studying together again in one of the private study rooms in the basement of the library at nine-thirty in the evening, albeit for different subjects. 

Yoongi’s nose-deep into his PowerPoint on microscopic organisms found in regular tap water, and Seung-Hwan’s frantically scrambling through various online databases, scouring for relevant research papers in hopes of typing up the last bits and pieces to a ten-thousand-word paper.

Sitting adjacent to her left was his mortal enemy: Saccharinely sweet, tinted with the shade of chocolate milk, but completely lacking in all essential nutrients. Yet surprisingly enough, was still left untouched. Yoongi gives a slight tip of an approving nod.

Good.

 ** _Let it stay that way_**.

Amid the background noise of shuffling papers, ASMR-worthy keyboard tapping, and half-hearted sighs, Yoongi watches every subtle action with the corner of his eye. Any time she reaches into her bag, he’s just as prepared to do the same. Any time she digs into her pencil case, he’s equally ready to snatch any item that looks remotely like a straw out of her grasp. 

Unfortunately, Seung-Hwan seems to have stepped up her game too.

“You ain’t slick,” she snaps, never removing her eyes from her screen as she slaps Yoongi’s wrist with a nearby ruler. “If you’re trying to steal my bubble tea, I’d commend you for being brave – but you do that, and I will personally make sure that you see Satan tomorrow.”

“I’d take that threat properly,” Yoongi replies snippily, shaking off the prickling sting. “But I don’t think I’d even make it to the First Circle of Hell with how loudly your stomach’s grumbling.”

It always amazes him how Seung-Hwan can turn from threateningly feisty to embarrassingly sheepish within two seconds, clutching a hand to her stomach as if it would be enough to hide her betraying stomach's hunger. Strangely – adorable. In a weird way. Because Seung-Hwan's always weird. “W-well, t-that’s because – _ugh_!” She reaches deep into her backpack, fumbling clumsily all the while.

Yoongi detects a subtle crinkle amongst her low-toned, dangerous grumbling, and just before she can unwrap the straw, he flicks his own ruler against the back of her hand, tutting, “I’ve got a weapon of my own, _you_ ain’t that slick, either.”

The more-than-furious glint she sports at him should’ve been more than enough to silence him, but judging by that shit-eating smile Seung-Hwan desperately wants to wipe off, it’s not. 

Aggravated, she sighs. “What is it _now_?”

"I got something for you."

Seung-Hwan originally thought he was going to pull out one of his gag gifts: A self-help book on how to deal with obsessive behaviours (Ironic, really, since _she’s_ the presumed expert when it comes to anything that had to do with the human brain), or print-outs of that terrifying article about that girl with the damaged intestinal tract from having it filled with pearls made from rubber.

Basically anything – _except_ a glass Tupperware.

Yoongi sets it onto the table with a gentle _clink_ , seemingly proud of his efforts, and Seung-Hwan peers at the contents concealed within with a raised eyebrow as he slowly slides it towards her. Precariously, she opens it with both hands.

The heavenly aroma of _bulgogi_ , brown rice and a _kimchi_ tofu salad that penetrates the room soon after leaves her mouth open and tongue salivating. The initial annoyance dissipates immediately as she questions, “What is this about?”

Yoongi’s answer is simple. And just a _tad_ bit douchey for her tastes. “You ain’t you when you’re hungry.”

“ ** _WHAT_**?!”

“All I’m saying is,” he explains, a little more tactfully this time around. Why couldn’t he start off with a proper explanation rather than stealing taglines from candy bars? Irritating ~~cute~~ twat. “You shouldn’t be using sugar as a substitute. You might see your beverages as a good replacement to satisfy your appetite, but all of that is just going to make you crash. If not now, then soon.” Darkly, he adds, “We don’t need that happening, do we?”

“Look, I _want_ – to cook.” Seung-Hwan attempts, letting out a small pout. Piercing her utensils into the vegetables, she admits, “But Yoongi, handling two majors, a part-time job and volunteer work isn’t something that allows me this type of luxury.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s not ideal,” Yoongi agrees, his tone coated in light solemnity. He was correct; bad choices didn’t just stem out of nowhere. Tapping her forehead with his finger, he scolds, “But that doesn’t excuse you from feeding yourself crap. And I’m not suggesting you cook yourself a five-star meal, either. Just – _try_ and eat better, even if it’s just like one of those lunch sets from convenience stores.”

So, Seung-Hwan tries. Yoongi watches, sucking in a slow, steady breath.

She takes her first bite of the salad. Inhales it in five bites. The thin line on his lips upturns slightly.

She scoops up the rice within seconds, swallowing everything despite some undercooked grains here and there. The smile widens across his face.

And by the end of her late dinner, Yoongi’s ninety-eight percent confident that he’s fixed a partial aspect to her problem. Confidently, he asks, “Well?”

Seung-Hwan wipes her mouth with a spare napkin, commenting offhandedly, “Hmph. S’okay.”

“ ** _JUST_** okay? Damn, Hwan. You’re picky as fuck.”

The most critical point, however, was the fact that she didn’t touch her bubble tea after that.

For the week that follows, Yoongi would often join her for study sessions, providing her with either lunch, dinner or snacks that Seokjin had stamped as ‘Certified to be Healthy’ (Whatever that meant). Most of the time, they were store-bought from some organic health food store in _Insadong_. Occasionally, whenever time would allow, her meals were homemade, with Yoongi creepily gazing at Seung-Hwan with an expectant, childish glint to his eyes, hoping for positive reinforcement.

Which, by the way, she _did_ not give. Because Seung-Hwan doesn’t want to admit it. And knowing the type of personality that she has, she probably won’t admit it until tortured otherwise.

However, there was a definite extra tang to Yoongi’s _bulgogi_ in comparison to 7-11's _bento_ boxes that he purchases for her that makes her think: She could get used to eating homecooked meals if they all came from him.

* * *

There weren’t many things in life that Seung-Hwan considers her favourites.

Yoongi could count her favourite people with one hand: Literature scholar and philosophy major, Bae Joo-Hyun; modern dance major and Jimin’s ultimate crush, Kang Seulgi; sassy fashion design major, Park Soo-Young and Jung-Kook’s _some_ counterpart, Kim Ye-Rim. In short, what Ho-Seok often describes as the troublesome quintet that could probably form a girl group on their own if they tried. That list probably stopped at that – and more than likely didn’t include him, granted that he’s been trying to get her to stop indulging in the sole thing that evoked joy in her life currently.

(He. Doesn’t care. Okay? No. He doesn’t.)

Favourite pastimes weren’t that difficult to name, either. If it didn’t include leaving candid Yelp reviews on different bubble tea joints littering Hongdae, watching ASMR videos of people sipping on bubble tea (Some do it masterfully, others are just plain _gross_ ), engaging in vigorous physical activity just to increase her daily caloric quota to fit one 750 mL cup of putrid vomit; watching animated movies in the theatre and avoiding the movie ticket usher's suspicions as she snuck her bubble tea in through a giant tote bag – wait, on second thought, did anything _not_ revolve around that shit? Yoongi’s seriously humouring the idea that her blood pumps milk tea instead of hemoglobin.

Oh, wait. Yes. There _is_. And that’s also one of the few reasons why Yoongi and Seung-Hwan sort of get along: They have a deep appreciation for sleep and rest, understanding the critical correlation between sleep quality and overall health. It didn’t matter when or where, because it’s not like location matters when sleep deprivation hits the duo like a tsunami wave.

Seung-Hwan likes to grab a few minutes of shut-eye during her daily transits to and from the university by resting her body against the window, while Yoongi prefers lulling his head back against the headrest. Whenever an empty aisle seat pops up, she’ll always offer it to him without a single complaint. To reciprocate, he’ll help her tell off any selfish bastards taking up _both_ seats that Seung-Hwan needed the window.

But look, just because she enjoys getting bed rest doesn’t necessarily mean she’s getting _enough_ of it. These two things are not mutually inclusive. And Yoongi knows, because the heavy dark bags are showing more prominently sometime during the midway mark of the Spring semester. Never has she looked more exhausted, and when he takes that in combination with her sudden trips into that dreaded Gong Cha for caramel coffee, well, sleep is _exactly_ what he needs to target next.

They’re taking full advantage of the beaming sunshine on a late Wednesday afternoon, bathing the luscious campus grounds in a warm, ethereal glow, with a brisk walk to the bus station when Seung-Hwan catches it out of the corner of her eye.

No, not sunlight. She’s getting a face full of Vitamin D as-is. And no, not bird crap – but a weird, overly concerned stare.

From Yoongi.

Seung-Hwan grimaces, pulling the strap of her book bag tighter to her chest: A sign of self-consciousness that she hopes to disguise as displeasure. “Yoongi- _yah_ , rather than staring, take a picture of my pretty face. It'll last longer.”

“Pretty is what you _generally_ look like – “

Seung-Hwan chokes back a disbelieving splutter into the air, looking like an absolute madwoman as she tore through the contents inside her bag for her order of coffee milk tea. _Where is it? **Where is it?!**_ “W-what?!”

“If you didn’t have those ugly circles underneath your eyes,” Yoongi finishes with a deadpan. “Right now, you look like a panccoon.”

She _knew_ it was too good to be true. She attempts to suppress the slight tinge of disappointment in her stomach by creasing her brows together into an unamused frown, asking, “I’m a **_what_** now?”

“The resulting hybrid between a panda and a raccoon. Hence, panccoon.”

“Two things, Yoong.” She lifts her index finger. “One, that’s an awful portmanteau. And two.” Her middle finger slinks upward. “ _Randa_ wins.”

“The **_point_** is,” Yoongi presses, panting slightly as he attempts to keep up with Seung-Hwan’s pace. Why is it that she, likely the least healthy one compared to him, still manages to traipse up the dreaded Stairway of Hell without gasping for air? The world of genetics truly astounds him sometimes. “I’m not impressed with how your Last Active status on Facebook and Kakao shows up at 3 or 4 A.M. in the morning. Can’t you just – ?”

 _What’s the word again?_ Yoongi’s too caught up in his own thoughts that he misreads Seung-Hwan’s flustered gasp for an annoyed grumble. Finally, he finishes lamely, “Like chill and relax?” 

“You know for a fact that I can’t!” Seung-Hwan makes a dash for the bus, ready to peel away from the curb to depart and Yoongi follows with an Olympic-worthy sprint of his own, clambering aboard just as the elderly driver guns the engine.

Two adjoining seats beckon them towards the back, and as per custom, Seung-Hwan slides in first. “Deadlines take precedence over proper relaxation in the world of thesis statements and PubMed articles,” she explains, her voice dropping to a low whisper as she draws out her computer and her primary source of energy onto her lap. A half-written document is on display, and she resumes typing as if it were the most normal thing to do.

Yoongi, however, thinks otherwise. He stares, thunderstruck. Seung-Hwan never works during her transit. **_Never_**.

“How long has it been since you’ve actually _slept_? Tell me, Hwan, do I even want to know the answer to that?”

“Um, well, th-that doesn’t matter!”

In Seung-Hwan’s world, ‘ _that doesn’t matter_ ’ often translates to ‘ _mind your own business_ ’, ‘ _I’m still alive, see_ ’ and ‘ _what is sleep_?’ Or, what he likes to call, a weak-ass justification for bad behaviour.

But in Yoongi’s world, ‘ _that doesn’t matter_ ’ ends up becoming his last straw.

“I can relax after this week – ”

He cuts her off, firmly, authoritatively, silencing Seung-Hwan altogether as he instructs, “No. You’re **_not_**.” Without anything else said, he promptly lifts the lightweight device away from her eyes, propping it onto his knees instead.

Seung-Hwan shrieks, mimicking the ferocious pitch of a newborn piglet. Her hands are all over the place, too close for comfort and near capable of smacking him on the nose if she attempted. “ ** _Hey_**! Asshole! I’m nearly done with that!”

“I’ll be the one to assess that,” Yoongi replies dryly, flicking her forehead with a painful _tak_. “Sleep.”

“What kind of doctor-to-be abuses their patients like this?”

But Seung-Hwan knows better than to fight him like this, with the growing number of passengers sending them – or was it primarily _her_? – the nastiest stink-eye known to mankind.

So, she tries, and successfully drifts off to the background noise of quiet conversation, muted breathing and occasional keyboarding. The steady steering eventually pacifies her hyperactive subconscious into a much-needed slumber.

Yoongi counts. Sixty seconds flat, and she’s conked out with her body angled comfortably towards the window, completely oblivious to the world around her.

“And here she is,” he comments, turning his attention away from her unconscious form to the paragraphs littering her document. “ _Still_ claiming that she doesn’t need it.” 

And sure, it’s also likely that she _didn’t_ need extra warmth either, but it’s not like having an extra layer ever _hurt_ anyone.

So eventually, Yoongi decides to shrug off his own jacket, leaving his thin arms exposed to the elements as he draped it over her gently like a makeshift blanket. He rarely lends his clothes to his friends – much less _girls_ , for that matter – but to see her wearing it like _that_. Something endearingly sweet tugs at his heart as he watches her draw the fabric closer to her body.

It looks good on her like that. He can appreciate it. ~~~~

~~And what he means by that is, Seung-Hwan should wear his clothes more often.~~

~~But of course, he’s Min Yoongi. He’ll ** _never_** say that.~~

* * *

Seulgi only has one thing to say after Seung-Hwan recounts the past narratives of Yoongi’s attempts to diminish her dependence on bubble tea. 

It wasn’t anything complimentary towards his passionate aspirations in becoming a general practitioner. Nor was it a sarcastic jab towards his inability to restrain from acting holier-than-thou in front of _everybody_.

Instead, it was an amused hiss of, “Girl. He _likes_ you.” Direct, forthright and straight-to-the-point: Something that Seung-Hwan was not expecting, shocking her completely out of her wits as she near chokes on her spit.

“Ey, w-what are you talking about?!” Although, is she saying that because she’s actually clueless and as oblivious as a duck? Or, is she saying it… _just_ for the sake of feigning ignorance? “H-he’s just being a gentleman!”

“You’re being contradictory, you know,” Seulgi sniggers. “When is Yoongi _ever_ the type to be a gentleman in the first place?!” 

Come to think of it, the dance major is – more than right. Seung-Hwan can blubber out a shitty attempt of an excuse as much as she wants - that no, he's just being his typical nice self, and that he doesn't want to free up his credit card debt to fulfill her monthly quota - but Seulgi can literally see her fellow friend, sinking to the floor dizzily with a violent burst of red flooding her face.

“I rest my case,” Seulgi concludes. “Oh, and hey, is Yoongi a fan of Sade?”

“W-well, he likes all genres of music.” _Okay. Deep breathing, Seung-Hwan. Deep breaths_. Her hand trembles slightly on the receiver as she attempts to steady her pulsing heart. “W-Why do you ask?”

“Let’s just say that Mr. Min Yoongi is one smooth operator.”

“Oh, my God. Shut **_up_**!”

* * *

Originally, Yoongi was bluffing when he initiated this competition. He never expected that his attempts would’ve been successful, considering that Seung-Hwan’s not the type of girl to listen to well-intentioned advice without snapping back like a ferocious alligator. And while he did believe that Seung-Hwan would eventually emerge as the victor, the trajectory seems to be pointing towards the opposite.

Rather her, his triumph seems – absolute. Definite. Bright.

If he dares to say, Yoongi feels as if he has the upper hand now.

He hears it from Jung-Kook first – who received the news from Ye-Rim, and nobody could be a more accurate snitch than Kim Ye-Rim – that Seung-Hwan hasn’t been making her detours to Gong Cha as often. Her news was further corroborated by the rumours drifting around the Faculty of Environmental Sciences, stemming from the gangly, willowy Gong Cha flower-boy by the name of Do-Young that he’s been missing that ‘ _lovely customer with the light-brown hair, mesmerizing eyes, and the MacBook covered in a plethora of Final Fantasy stickers_ ’.

( _He_ gave her those, damnit. Who is this Do-Young to be crooning over ~~Seung-Hwan~~ Tifa Lockhart in the first place, anyway?)

And ultimately, his sporadic meetups with Seung-Hwan proves everything. She brings a refillable water bottle everywhere and has enough snacks to supply her lecture hall.

“Told you, didn’t I?” Yoongi would say, baring his glinting teeth in a bright, shiny smile. 

And Seung-Hwan would reply, “Yes, yes, you did. Happy?”

He’s satisfied to know that despite his multiple fuck-ups throughout the years, he’s actually doing something right for once. Thanks to his hard work – or bothersome persistence – Seung-Hwan’s adopting better eating habits and treating her drinks as an occasional reward rather than a constant intravenous drip.

Mission accomplished.

(Well, sorta.

Because elated as he is, there’s a small part of him that _wants_ her to regress, just so they could continue whatever the hell he classifies this to be.

He wonders why that is?)

* * *

Whatever the reason may be, his wish inevitably comes true when the end of the semester comes swiftly. It’s crunch time with final examinations, last-minute assignments and presentations looming overhead, descending upon the school in a heavy, burdensome fog. The hallways are void of laughter; instead, nervous students teem about in clustered groups, discussing hypothetical percentages needed to pass their respective courses with dazzling grades of C minuses, C's and C pluses. 

Seung-Hwan, of course, is no exception to this. She drops a slight mention of her ten courses, numerous meetings with the PI responsible for her thesis and the nine finals that she has upcoming. Three of which were back to back, leaving her with very little time to revise and review in between. The sighs exhaling from her lips makes his insides twist in worry, prompting Yoongi to ask her if she’s fine.

Seung-Hwan responds robotically with the typical three-lettered word. Yes. _Yes_ , she is. **_Yes -_** how many times does he have to ask? She’ll be fine when all this is over.

But Yoongi can tell otherwise. Her responses are snippy, bordering on aggressive, too. The fatigued expression soon makes its return, manifesting as dark, hollow circles and constant yawns that Seung-Hwan can’t suppress.

And eventually, her habitual routine resumes. Joo-Hyun is the one to inform him first, worriedly so, that she’s been making three trips every two days.

“I see her with her Grapefruit QQ on Wednesday morning, and then she’ll stop by for a milk foam coffee in the evening.”

Yoongi says nothing, but Joo-Hyun can practically _see_ the raging fury radiating off his body. It isn't even enough to describe half of how he feels.

Does the fact that her inability to kick the habit bother him? Yes, _of course_ , it does. She’s committing some questionable life choices that would hit her in a painful, aching fashion fifty years down the line. Plus, this is nearly _two months_ of hard work – up and vanished.

But once he managed to calm down and think through things more sensibly, he realizes that the more pressing matter _isn’t_ that. He could give less than two shits, for all he cares.

Rather, it’s Seung-Hwan’s mental well-being that has him worried.

The thing about Seung-Hwan is, she’s the polar opposite of Yoongi. Yoongi thrives under extreme pressure and is near capable of pumping out ten-paged well-written papers and completing three complicated readings within half an hour with the material fully broken down and digested into understandable segments. 

Seung-Hwan, unfortunately, isn’t like that. Seung-Hwan sets timelines for herself. She needs guidelines and structure; she can’t dive head-on into an assignment without a proper approach or draft; she needs to give herself ample time to plan and process. 

In this case, time isn’t something that she can afford, though. Not when she has nearly ninety chapters of material to skim through. And considering that she’s never been too great at coping with the relentless pressure that arises when doing a dual degree, it’s inevitable that she would’ve succumbed to her sole weakness for comfort during her periods of hardship. Some students may have cup _ramen_ and _tteokbokki_ as their form of comfort food; hers just simply came in a plastic cup.

Come to think of it, Yoongi shouldn’t continue to behave so unnecessarily harsh and call that a momentary lapse in judgment when he himself is completely useless in providing her with encouragement.

* * *

It’s not that Seung-Hwan doesn’t feel guilty when she tastes the familiar flavour of her favourite drink.

Trust her when she says that Yoongi _did_ manage to knock some semblance of sense back into her brain; she knows that water is a better alternative and that it’s not a good coping mechanism to depend on sucrose to give her that brief period of relief. It’s just that she doesn’t have an alternative to rely on. How else would she be able to get that shot of instantaneous happiness and the right amount of motivation to encourage her to continue studying, even when her frail body is already on the verge of collapsing?

The answer to that comes to her unexpectedly on a Tuesday morning, just after her sixth exam.

She exits the examination hall, musing over her multiple-choice answers, when she runs into Yoongi, turning the corner.

“Oh!”

Relief washes over his features as he exclaims, “Hwan, **_there_** you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

Stunned, Seung-Hwan repeats, “You’ve been looking for me?”

“For an aspiring psychologist, you sure are slow on the uptake.” Insulting as his words may be, he’s wearing that breathtaking gummy smile when he says this. It nearly forces her heart to jump out of her chest. Was it just her, or did he seem especially excited to see her today, despite her raggedy appearance in day-old sweatpants and unwashed hoodies? “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

Is she hearing him correctly? Min Yoongi, leaving that tiny square box that he calls a studio apartment to drop by and _see_ _her without any ulterior motives_? Completely unheard of.

“Shouldn’t you be confined to your flat or at the library reviewing your organelles?”

“Nah. That can wait.” He dismisses her question with a casual wave of his hand. “Just consider this a brief check-up from your resident doctor-to-be. Are _you_ doing okay?”

The emphasis on ' _you_ ' heats up her cheeks, and memories of her previous conversation with Seulgi immediately flushes back into her mind like water flowing through a gushing dam. She averts her gaze downwards, praying (Dear Heavenly God) that Yoongi wouldn’t witness her face turning tomato-red. “…I’m getting there, I guess,” she laments. “I’m just – real exhausted. I’ll be better by the end of next week when all of this is over, though – “

With how he’s observing now – placid, taciturn – Seung-Hwan can’t help but nervously tugs onto the ends of her sweater. Why is he looking at her like that? It’s like her answer wasn’t appropriate or complete enough. But then again, Yoongi couldn’t have just stopped by to ask her about her well-being now, can it?

Just – _no way_.

The unreadable expression he has on his face prompts her to say more than just the typical. Clearing her throat, she suddenly jabs an accusatory finger at his chin, yelping, “Oh, and hey! Don’t think I forgot about our little bet, Yoong! I’m _still_ going to win! I’m still eating on time! And I have a ton of seaweed packets in my bag!”

An airy, genuine laugh rings through the air: A complete contrast to what she had anticipated as a reaction. The resonating, deep-throated rasp seeps through her being warmly as he says, earnest, “Hang in there, okay? You’re almost there.”

Yet, there seemed to be something else that he was holding back on his tongue – as if, he had more to say, but didn’t quite know the proper way to express his thoughts without being offensive. That, there was more to his gaze than just reprimanding her over milk tea and pearls.

Then again, the elusive Yoongi has never been a man of many words, preferring actions over verbal affirmation. He has never been – and will probably never be – fond of skin-ship, but he decides to break tradition for Seung-Hwan.

Just this once.

Seung-Hwan cautiously watches each action slowly, from him lifting his arms, to him opening them up – albeit, awkwardly so – leaving behind a small amount of space, just enough for her to step into for a supportive embrace.

No pretext needed. No context required. Just him and his five-feet-seven awkward, stiff self standing there, in the middle of that hallway. Seung-Hwan doesn’t know whether to burst out into laughter at his ridiculous inelegance or feel touched at his trying efforts.

Maybe a little bit of both. 

“I don’t offer public displays of affection _this_ easily, by the way. Ask Ho-Seokkie,” Yoongi advises in a low grunt. “So if I were you, I would take full advantage of this offer before said huggee decides to revoke your rights.”

Raising a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, she retorts, “The stoic Min Yoongi using cute words like ‘huggee’? Why, is this an alternative universe that I’m living in right now?”

Despite that, she does, anyway.

And it feels wonderful, that moment when she collides into his chest. She relishes in how perfectly imperfect their bodies seem to fit when she wraps her own arms around his waist, and how. She’s always held onto a firm belief that stone-cold, aloof Yoongi would be a complete fish on dry land when it came to offering comfort, but…

She’s _so_ wrong. And she’s more than delighted to be wrong, for once.

Her hold is loose – floppy and limp, at first, but eventually, it tightens. And he mimics her, prompting her to bury her head into the crook of his arm. Suddenly, every outstanding task that she had left to accomplish feels – secondary. As if, it was nothing that she couldn’t handle.

“You’ve worked hard enough, Hwan- _ah_. Take a break if you need to.”

Yoongi offers no other words of consolation other than a comfortable silence after that, permitting her to take as much time as she needed.

* * *

Now, the thing about Yoongi is, he's both book-smart and street-smart. But sometimes, the book smarts heavily outweigh his street smarts. 

And that's why it doesn't quite click in the back of his mind when the emotionally adept Nam-Joon and perpetually excitable Tae-Hyung had asked him the dreaded question a few days after their examinations were over: "So, when are you and Hwan/Hwannie- _noona_ going to get together?"

To which he replied tactfully, "Uh, _never_?", earning him a mouthful of cussing and exorbitant crying. Yoongi knows better now than to open his mouth and give a presumably unacceptable answer. 

Why it was deemed unacceptable, however, was beyond his understanding. Because you see, Yoongi _really_ didn't expect anything to come out of this stupid three-month bet.

Winning this was already a big surprise in of itself. Having Seung-Hwan humbly conceded defeat, even more so. So, if somebody from the future had time-warped to tell him that he would've ended up with a new girlfriend as an added bonus, well -

You bet your damn ass that he would've collapsed to the floor in a fetal position, crying of laughter. 

But now that he's actually _standing_ before a stern-looking Seung-Hwan, staring his cowardly self down with that infamous, no-nonsense glint flashing in her eyes and her arms crossed across her chest with a huffy, pointed question of, "Min Yoongi, you cannot keep doing all of these heartfelt gestures and think, just for one second, that I'll believe this is all to be a means to an ends to help me wean off bubble tea! **_Why_** did you care so much in the first place?", the rusty, cobwebbed clockwork springs slowly, but surely creak back into place.

He can continually claim that this was merely a successful method in helping her make better choices, but Son Seung-Hwan's a smart cookie. She can see through his complete, utter bullshit that this charade - of taking cooking lessons and learning her preferred taste palate, of offering jackets and wondering why in God's hell she looked ten times more attractive in his clothes, of exchanging cumbersome physical contact that had actually left his heart thrumming and his skin pleasantly warm all over - was never _truly_ about the bubble tea in the first place. 

But Yoongi's intelligent, too. He knows better than to lie to a wrathful woman. ' _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned',_ after all.

So, whilst a part of him may have considered the idea of planning out a dangerous escape route that included parkour and possible neck-breaking, he decides on the next best course of action. 

Which, obviously, was to approach her like the confident, poised man that he struggles to be, leaving just enough breathing room between the two to take her starry-eyed self by the hand and - atypical of conventional Min Yoongi - half-asses an attempt to be as dark, suave and passionately romantic as the dashing male protagonist from Secret Garden by saying gruffly:

"You don't need the bubble tea when you have me, y'know?"

* * *

She laughed in his face for a good ten minutes afterward.

Figures.

(But Seung-Hwan _did_ let him walk her home, hand-in-hand, so that helps a whole lot, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> Wenga really grew on me. Sobs. ;_; As always, thanks for reading! Take care, and I'll see you all very soon!


End file.
